


In White Sheets

by LadyLoec



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, POV Feyre Archeron, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 08:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16059167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLoec/pseuds/LadyLoec
Summary: Set during one of Feyre's early stays at the palace above the Court of Nightmares. While her training in shielding and learning to read is mentally taxing, it is doing nothing to alleviate her bodily stresses. The tension gets to her, and her mind begins to wander.





	In White Sheets

I put down my book and sank into the soft, cool sheets and sighed. It had been a really long day - copying out more of Rhys' banal sentences while he lounged opposite, reading reports of some kind and testing my shields at random. For someone so smooth and elegant, he has definitely mastered the art of looking like he doesn't have a care in the world: A fact which is boundlessly annoying when his training has left your brain feeling like jelly at the end of the day while he looks completely at ease draped on a chair. Meanwhile, I am... Not at ease. My body is wide awake and I find myself fidgeting - tossing and turning. I will have to talk to Rhys soon about exercise or adding some physical element to my training, as doing all this work with my mind while my body idles has been making it difficult to sleep (a conversation I am dreading, because he is bound to make it sound obscene in some way). Naturally I have a similarly sedentary daily routine at the Manor, but my... nightly exertions with Tamlin put paid to that problem. We might not do much right, but I have few complaints where that is concerned. 

 

But here... 

I know it shouldn't be an issue. Tam isn't here, and I shouldn't look at another male that way. But in my defence, it's hard not to look at Rhys like that. I sometimes have the absurd thought that he was made to be looked at - some sort of kindness of the gods to give the world something beautiful to appreciate, like a work of art (cocky bastard would probably say if that was the case, he was best viewed nude). During the day, I've caught myself staring too long at the swirls of black ink peeking out of the collar of his shirt, or the lines of his neck, or those damn eyes. He's just so enticing. Then he opens his mouth and I just want to throw things at him again. 

 

Rolling my shoulders, they are tight and uncomfortable, much like the rest of me. Ugh. 3 days until I go home - I can't wait that long. I need to do something. Need... What do I need? 

 

I contemplated a bath - the enormous pool in the adjacent room is heated by magic at all hours of the day and night, and might ease some of the tension in my muscles, but any relief from that would be short lived. I could go for a walk - explore some more of this palace (as long as I avoided the court beneath), but the thought of stumbling across Rhys' room... I'm not sure why the notion made me feel so uncomfortable. What would I say if I inadvertently woke him? More to the point, what would he think if he found me snooping around in the dead of night? Despite being an infuriating prick, he has actually been somewhat kind since we had gotten out of our hell Under the Mountain - I couldn't risk jeopardising that.

 

There was also the distinct possibility that he wouldn't be alone. Whilst I knew from the small study of court politics Tamlin allowed me that he was unmated and unmarried, a male of his standing could have anyone from his court to warm his bed, and it would be naive to think he wouldn't take advantage of that privilege. I don't think I could handle the embarrassment of walking in on him... with someone, though Rhys would certainly derive some amusement from it. Absently, I wondered what sort of a lover he might be. If rumour was to be believed, Amarantha never bedded another male in the almost fifty years she held him captive, so apparently a very good one. But would he be commanding, or considerate? Sensuous and languid, or passionate and rough? With that dark power of his, could he reach into your mind and bring your wildest fantasies to life?

 

I snapped out of it to find my hands weren't where I left them: One was on my breast and one ghosting over rapidly dampening lace between my thighs. I hastily checked my shields, relieved to find them intact. Cauldron, if he got wind of that train of thought I would never have heard the end of it. Thinking of him like that had a strong impact on me: More powerful than anything I had ever felt. My thighs clenched together against the throbbing ache growing there, and yet a fierce pit dwelt in my stomach at the thought of him with another female. Did he have a favourite among his court - a mistress? Or was it a different female (or females) every night?

 

Ridiculous. It must be my new fae hormones playing tricks on me for being away from my fiance for so long. I would probably be having similar thoughts about Lucien if Tam went away for a long trip, I reasoned. But even as I said it to myself, I wasn't convinced. 

 

Still, even as I tried to think of something (anything) else, my thoughts drifted back. Would his wings be present when he took a lover, or would he banish them? Would they get in the way? No, I imagined they wouldn't. They might even help in certain positions. I wondered what they felt like, what they tasted like. Unbidden, I found myself imagining his groan as I ran my tongue down the membrane. Even thought it was merely imagined, it was about the sexiest thing I'd ever heard. Rhys' voice was like velvet - smooth, sensuous, elegant - and I imagined that, like velvet, when touched in a particular way it would change, becoming rough, harsh. That phantom guttural noise went straight through my body and made me quake with want like nothing I'd ever experienced, and of their own volition my hands returned to an exploration of my body. My breath stuttered as my fingers traced the outside of my already sodden undergarment, my other hand roughly groping my breast, peaked nipple settling at the centre of my palm, and moaned as I imagine larger, rougher hands replacing my own, violet eyes burning into mine. 

 

I knew it was wrong to even do this here, and that I should feel guilty, should be thinking of Tamlin if of anyone, but my body turned to unyielding stone when I tried to think of him, and to pure molten fire when I thought of Rhys. I turned my face against the pillow, and inhaled - I was certain I could even smell him on my sheets. It felt like I was surrounded by him, and it was intoxicating. The weight of the sheet on top of me was nowhere near heavy enough - I wanted to feel his weight on me. Imagining the soft, warm, enchanted breeze on the skin at my neck was his breath, I swore and pressed more insistently at the aching spot between my legs. 

 

A tutting sound from the corner of the room alerted me I wasn't alone. 

"Such foul language from a lady of standing. Do your society friends know you swear like that?"

That velvet voice I had struggled to recreate in my mind. I shot up to a sitting position, clutching the thin sheet to me like armour. 

"Rhys?!" He was leaning casually against the door jamb leading to the bathing room, arms and ankles crossed casually, and his winged frame silhouetted by the moonlight. He must have flown in from the balcony. He couldn't have flown far though: He was clad only in dark silk pajama bottoms that were hanging dangerously low on his waist, and he was barefoot. I stared for at least a second too long at those black whorls of ink on his shoulders, which joined in a point at the centre of his collarbone. The point formed was like an arrow down to the muscled panes of his chest and the sinful 'V' formed by his hips. His hair was messed from bed, and he looked like temptation made flesh. But then reality smacked me in the face. "Oh gods, how long have you been standing there?" 

The smirk in his voice was audible in his reply. "Somewhere between far too long and not nearly long enough."

I threw the sheet over my head as if it would either make him disappear or mask my utter humiliation.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Checking on the wellbeing of my guest like a gracious host." He sounded way too smarmy. Fear of Under the Mountain be damned, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. I heard soft feet pad on the tiled floor - he was approaching me. I lowered my sheet-shield a fraction, keeping my modesty, but granting sight of his predatory stalk. "It has been a long time since I have entertained a visitor but, as I recall, etiquette demands I ensure _all_ of their needs and desires are met." His eyes - Gods, those _eyes_. As a human, I remember thinking how striking they were, but to a fae they were storms and galaxies and balefire. They expressed more with a simple look than a human could convey in volumes of script; now they were promising ecstasy - sparks and pleasure and sweat and sin. They glinted so mischievously in the dark so I couldn't fail to catch his meaning, and my heart thudded hard, almost drowning out his words. He sat on the bed beside me, his weight sinking the mattress and it felt like gravity itself was pulling me to him. His nostrils flared as he scented my arousal and his gaze darkened hungrily. "So, Feyre, is there anything I can do for you?" He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. His eyes roved down my face, hovered on my lips and down my body silhouetted in the sheet. I couldn't have felt more bare if I were actually naked. "Anything - to make your stay more pleasurable?" 

 

My throat went dry and for a moment I forgot how to speak. I wanted him, more than I had ever wanted anything. In spite of, or perhaps because of all that had passed between us. But I was a coward. I panicked. 

"You can give me some privacy."

My voice was lacking in conviction, even to my own ears, and part of me was sure he would see straight through me, but he looked disappointed. Worse, crestfallen. A fraction of a second later and his bravado was back. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. 

"Clearly you have everything you desire. Testament to my skills as a host, no doubt. My mistake." 

He turned to stand, but suddenly I couldn't bear the thought of him leaving. I lurched forward, my hand shooting out to his waist, abandoning the sheet to fall loosely around me. He stopped instantly. The moment my touch connected, it was electric. His skin was warm and soft underneath my touch and my fingers flexed against the tensed muscle, aching to explore. His gaze lowered to watch as they slid seemingly of their own volition across his stomach, nestling in the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel, and Rhys' hissed in breath had me swallowing hard. His hand tentatively reached for my cheek, a gentle caress of his fingers that burned like lightning. I had leaned in so close that his lips were inches from my own and when his eyes landed on them, it felt like I wouldn't get out of this alive.

"What do you need, Feyre?"

 

I still couldn't form the words, but luckily I didn't need them. I dropped my shields and sent images down the bond - a relentless stream of them. His mouth on my neck, my nails digging into his back, hands fisted in his tousled raven hair as his head buried between my thighs, my lips on his wings, his hand working my breast, our sweat-slicked skin sliding over each other - one after another, I fed him a symphony of every filthy thought that had plagued me since I met him that fateful night by the bonfires. I barely got through the overture before his lips crashed into mine and he was pushing me backwards into the pillows.

 

His weight on me felt just right, and he nestled between my thighs like the missing piece of a puzzle. His arousal, pressed against me as he ground into my core, made me see stars and a strangled keening noise I barely recognised came from my throat. My hands roved ravenously all over him, trying to drink in the delicious texture of him as he kissed me like he was a dying man and I was his air. His free hand slid between us and into my underthings, and I cried out when the weight of his own body pressed his fingers against me. His mouth roved down my neck and he pressed his tongue hard against my pulse point as he dipped two fingers into me and my nails dug half moons into his back at the delicious feeling, growling his approval into my clavicle. His body moved against me in time with the thrusts of his fingers and his mouth alternated barest ghosting of his lips and bruising kisses against my neck. When his thumb joined in sweeping motions at my apex, it was no time at all before I was coming apart underneath him. His mouth was back on mine, swallowing my cries of passion like the finest wine.

 

Rhys showed no signs of slowing. Instead, he eased off the assault of his kisses only long enough to throw aside the sheet and tear my nightshirt to ribbons with a talon that was discarded as quickly as it was summoned. Skin to skin, I could feel the heat of his body like a brand. I wanted him bare, wanted him inside me, but despite his apparent urgency, he seemed to have other ideas. He kissed his way down my throat and over my breasts, pausing to lavish deft attention on both my nipples that had a tight, twisting, desperate feeling writhing in my core. I briefly, deliriously thought that there was no way he was mere fae, he was more like one of the demons of myth who feeds on female pleasure. I was lost in that thought when the kisses he had been pressing into the hollow of my hip bone disappeared. I was about to lament their loss when his eyes met mine from between my legs and he licked a long, deep stripe right down my centre. I gasped, and he paused, his tongue pressing lightly against my clit as he hummed contentedly, sending a violent shudder of pleasure through me, muscles spasming out of control. 

"Fuck, Rhys."

He laughed playfully and I felt cool breath against my heat. His tongue gently teased me open, and I felt rather than heard him moan at my taste. My eyes rolled back and I shifted against the pillows as he began to devour me. He kissed and licked and sucked until I couldn't remember my own name, and when I was breathing so hard I thought I might pass out, he added two fingers and curled them inside me as he sucked hard on my clit. I saw stars as my orgasm ripped through me, one hand tangled in his hair as the other twisted in the sheets.

 

On the rare occasion Tamlin sought to please me this way, his arousal always abated and needed reasserting before we could continue. Not so for Rhys, evidently - my pleasure was his foreplay. I was left limp and boneless and fevered from his efforts, but one press of his impressive length, hard as diamonds through the thin silk (that, maddeningly, he still wore) was all it took to take my breath away and rally my attention. I knew then that I wouldn't be sated until I had him. I wanted to flip him over and render that smart mouth speechless with the talent of my own, but my limbs were like jelly. So I settled for reaching a hand between us, delving into the fabric. I savoured his intake of breath against my throat as I wrapped my hand around him and began to work him against me, the tip of him already damp with his own excitement. I caught his earlobe between my teeth and he let out a low growl, his body instinctively bucking into my hand. But it was the finger running down the exposed ridge of his wing - nails dragging lightly where the warm, soft membrane met the toned flesh of his back - that elicited a stuttered curse and made him shudder. He felt me smile against his neck. 

"Wicked thing."

"Wicked would be telling you that before you so rudely interrupted my evening, I was wondering what they tasted like." His body shuddered as his cock twitched in my hand. He might be the most powerful High Lord in Prythian's history, but right now he was at my mercy, and I loved it. I thought I could tease and explore him for days and never tire of it, but right now my own pulsing, aching need for him was too pressing to ignore any longer. 

"I think that might have to wait for next time though."

He didn't question my assertion that there would be a next time (but there most certainly would be if I had any choice in the matter). 

"Oh?" a nip of teeth at the underside of breast that had my back arching. "Why is that?"

"Because if you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to lose my mind."

The growl he loosed against my skin was practically feral. 

 

I felt his weight shift as he shucked off the offending silk bottoms, and I could barely breathe with anticipation. In a swift motion, Rhys brought his knees up under me and pulled me upright into his kneeling lap, my thighs either side of him as he supported my weight. It was a manoeuvre that for anyone else would have been difficult and clumsy, but he made it look effortless. He kissed me deeply, and I could taste faint traces of my own arousal on him. It reminded me of how completely he had wrecked me with that mouth, which just made me need him more, and I moaned into him, pulling him against me in an embrace so tight it was crushing, like I could meld our bodies with sheer force of will. Then he moved his kisses down my neck and lifted me up and over him, and I sank down onto his waiting cock.

And down. 

And down.

My nerve endings sparked and burned with every inch of him, completely alive from the two previous orgasms that had quaked my body. I was so overcome with pure sensation that tears pricked my eyes. When finally I had taken all of him, he stilled to let me adjust and I trembled against him. Even the slight motion of his breaths, steady and deep with the effort of stillness, felt like fireworks. When my body stopped exploding with every tiny shift, my eyes met his in silent signal. 

And then he started to move. 

Slowly, oh so torturously slowly. With one hand at my hips and the other along my spine holding my neck, he rocked back - drawing back almost all the way out and then easing back into me at the languid pace of pouring treacle, dragging and brushing against my sweet spot with every inch. I swore breathlessly, and he did it again, and again; if it felt half as good for him as it did for me, his self-restraint was incredible. I involuntarily clenched at the open mouthed kiss he placed on my clavicle and cried out with the intensity of it. Sex had never felt like this; I didn't even know it could.

 

Some indeterminate minutes later, my breath had quickened and my skin turned damp. Rhys' pace was still impossibly languid, but the sensation had gone from totally overwhelming to toe-curlingly good to driving me crazy. His mouth had kept busy with lazy explorations of my chest, finding exactly which spots and how much pressure made me quiver. He could now make me clench and scream with barely a pass of his tongue, which just made him smile or laugh softly against my skin and carry on. He had coiled me up like a spring and my body was aching for its release. I was in no doubt that he could have kept going like this for hours, teased me to the edge over and over, withholding my climax until I begged. Part of me wanted to let him, but I was too impatient, too obstinate. I wanted to come, and I wanted him to come with me. 

 

His wings were slightly fanned, as if to support his balance. Tentatively I reached over his shoulder and ran my hand down the seam of his wing, halting where it met his back and gripping firmly, flicking my fingers out over the membrane. I felt his rhythm stutter and his hand squeeze at my thigh. Good, that had gotten his attention. I  dragged my hand across and up his back, stopping to twist in his hair and pull his lips up to meet mine. I kissed him hard, catching his tongue between my lips and sucking. I rolled my hips against him, enjoying the muffled moan into my mouth. When I released him from the kiss, I bit his bottom lip gently for good measure. 

"Something wrong Feyre, darling?"

His eyes were pure mischief. He knew exactly what I wanted, he just wanted to make me say it. 

Prick. 

He was still moving inside me, and I was suddenly finding it very difficult to form words again. I could manage one, though.

"Harder."

"I think it would be breaking the laws of nature for me to get any harder." 

I laughed, and his answering smile was something wonderful. Tamlin never smiled in bed, never made me laugh - I rarely laughed at all anymore.

"Oh," he feigned realisation. "You mean something like this?"

He went from so slow it was agony, to pistoning so fast it made my vision blur, rolling his hips in a way that ground his pelvic bone deliciously against my clit for a fraction of a second with each thrust before pumping back out and in again. This pace would have been uncomfortable, even painful, for a human, but I was no longer human and it felt rapturous: Like I was in freefall. My fingers instinctively pressed hard into his skin - hard enough it might bruise - as if I had to hang on to something or else tumble off the edge of the world.

 

When I had just about forgotten my own name, he slowed a little, finding the perfect compromise of cadence and friction. A thin sheen of sweat clung to us both, and he allowed the dampener on his power to loosen, cool darkness kissing the heat from our skin as he moved in me. But the heat at my core rose still; though part of me never wanted this to end, I knew I couldn't physically take much more. Rhys' head dipped and his eyes screwed shut - it seemed he was nearing the inevitable as well. I leaned my head to meet his and watched where our bodies joined. His eyes opened and met mine, and the strand I had always felt between us pulled taut like a bowstring. His hand was shaking as he eased it from where it had gripped my thigh and slid it between us. A few brushes of his fingers was all it took to hasten me to my end, and when I constricted around him, I felt his rhythm waver. I put my hand to his cheek so he couldn't turn away and locked that violet gaze to mine as warmth flooded into me and he found his own release, his hoarse cry echoing in my ears like the sweetest melody. He laid me down with heartbreaking gentleness against the crisp sheets. With my exhaled breath, he was gone like smoke on a breeze.

 

Panting, I withdrew my aching hand from my underthings and rested it on my stomach, breathing in his imagined scent on my pillow. I felt for my shields, reassured to find them standing strong - I had never had such explicit thoughts about anyone, and the last thing I needed was for Rhys to know I had fantasised about him - especially so wantonly as that. I glanced at the archway to my bathing room, the moonlight glinting off the pool gently illuminating the empty space at the door; looked at the ornate door leading to the palace - to him - and sighed wistfully. I turned my head and let the soft, warm, scented breeze lull me to sleep.

 

 

\---

 

**_A few moments earlier, down the hall..._ **

Hell. This must be hell.

My teeth ground together and I clutched the pillow over me as another throaty moan filled my ears. She had found release not once, but _twice_ already - how much more did I have to be subjected to?! Even with a long corridor and two heavy doors between us, I would have sworn blind that I could scent her arousal from here. She must be doing it to torment me. Even if she didn't know we were mated, couldn't possibly know how every fibre of my being would be pulling me towards her like gravity in her wanting, she had guessed I would give her chambers close to mine, surely must have known that fae senses were receptive enough to pick on her activities... Mustn't she?

 

She gasped again - a desperate, keening sound filled with yearning. All semblance of self-control left me, and next I knew I was stumbling down the hallways half-crazed with lust like a savage. I approached her door and was about to throw open the doors and descend upon her with the passion and ferocity of a winter storm when I heard her crest again, and instead of turning the handle, my forehead rested against the door in frustration. I pressed my hand against the wood for a moment, as if I could feel her through the grain. Her sounds of passion quieted, until eventually soft breaths were all there was, and I listened to her fall asleep before I dragged myself back down the halls and the door to my chambers closed silently behind me. Crashing into the crisp white sheets, I let sleep take me, and dreamed of her.


End file.
